


Harry Potter and the Self-Indulgent Smut Inserts

by Trash_Baby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Naked Female Clothed Male, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Reunion Sex, Room of Requirement, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Sleepovers, Smut, Study Sessions, Table Sex, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, requests open
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28171308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash_Baby/pseuds/Trash_Baby
Summary: Shameless smut one-shots with your favourite lads and lassies of Hogwarts and beyond.Requests are open - feel free to drop a concept or pairing, I'm open to itReader pairings with:Draco Malfoy x2George WeasleySirius Black & Remus LupinFred WeasleySirius BlackTom Riddle
Relationships: Bill Weasley/Reader, Cedric Diggory/Reader, Draco Malfoy/Reader, Fred Weasley/Reader, George Weasley/Reader, Ginny Weasley/Reader, Harry Potter/Reader, Hermione Granger/Reader, Luna Lovegood/Reader, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Remus Lupin/Reader, Ron Weasley/Reader, Severus Snape/Reader, Sirius Black/Reader, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/Reader, Tom Riddle/Reader
Comments: 78
Kudos: 432
Collections: Tom Riddle





	1. Study Session - Draco Malfoy/Reader

Your relationship with Draco Malfoy was a funny one.

For a start, he was the unofficial prince of Slytherin. As for you, you were a Hufflepuff, content to blend in with the wallpaper and slip on by unnoticed throughout your years at Hogwarts.

You were almost successful in such a feat, up until several months ago. You had been sat in the library with your fellow 'puffs and studying away together; the pinging of whispered questions and fluttering of book pages as you each diligently searched for the correct answers was familiar and comforting. It was a fail-proof method of studying, and you had all gotten on by successfully for years with it.

"Okay, list the ingredients for Draught of Living Death." Someone drilled, almost an hour in to the rigorous study session.

"Standard potioning water, powdered root of Asphodel, infusion of Wormwood, Valerian root, Sopophorous beans, and a Sloth brain." You had reeled off, tapping your quill absentmindedly against your notes.

"Wrong." An arrogant voice drawled, and you had jolted in surprise at the volume after conversing in only whispers for so long.

"Excuse me?" You squeaked, shock painting your features as you whipped round to catch sight of none other than Malfoy draped languidly across a library armchair, Crabbe and Goyle stood on either side like hulking guard dogs.

One of his brows had arched as he tilted his head back,and the arm leaning on the armrest of the chair had reached up to rest his chin on his pale knuckles. "I said, you're _wrong_. Are you deaf as well as stupid?"

You had flushed deeply at his sneer, momentarily lost for words before scrambling for a comeback. "I-I'm not."

Yikes, you still felt like crawling into a pit to die at that response.

He had snorted, dropping his hand back down before leaning forward, completely ignoring your friends glaring at him. "It's a singular Sopophorus bean, not multiple. Too many and you might as well call it Draught of Death."

Draco had explained it to like you were a child, and his bodyguards guffawed at his poor play on words. Sniffing indignantly, you had shuffled in your seat a little before muttering your thanks and turning back around to continue with your group, trying your very hardest to pretend that Draco's pale eyes were not carving identical holes into the back of your head.

He didn't interrupt for the short remainder of the session, and when you and friends had all left, you found that he had slipped out of the library. You had dawdled behind your friends, the weight of the stacked books in your arms dragging you down and claiming all of your attention to the task of not dropping the pile, rather than on your surroundings. Which was why you had let out a feeble yelp and dropped most of the books in a heap when suddenly you were dragged into a darkened nook in the wall.

You had clutched the remaining book in your hands like a weapon, ready to hit your captor over the head with the dusty volume, except you had frozen when your eyes locked with none other than those of Draco.

"You're terrible at potions." He had commented dryly, to which you blinked. "Not as terrible as your idiot friends, but still terrible."

Another blink. There had been too much spite in his words for you to process what he had said as much of a backhanded compliment, but part of you had wondered if that was what he was going for. "Uh, okay. Thanks for letting me know."

He rolled his eyes, and your brows had formed a deep furrow at his next words. "Meet me in the library tomorrow evening at eight o'clock. Don't be late."

And before you had even thought to formulate a reply, he had stalked off, hair like white gold under the candlelight of the suddenly-empty hallways, leaving you gobsmacked and with a pile of dusty old books to pick up and lug all the way back down to your common room.

Ever since the following night, you had been meeting with Draco for weekly one-on-one study sessions. It wasn't something you outright enjoyed initially; in the beginning, he was snappy and outright degrading to the point where you'd rather Snape tutor you instead, and you had asked yourself more than once why he had even bothered to offer - or demand - you his time to tutor. But as the weeks had worn on, he began to calm down, his snappiness mellowed out to a tolerable curtness which was only present when he felt particularly frustrated, and he no longer insulted you with every opportunity.

In fact, he had started to praise you. Sort of. He no longer called you an idiot, at least. And your time with him had started straying from the austere regimen of studying the potions text book and even delving into casual conversation. You had even made him laugh a handful of times - twice, you were certain that his laughter was completely genuine, no traces of arrogance or cruelty to tinge the altogether pleasant sound. Both times, you had fought to quell the sticky heat the light sound had filled you with, swallowing it down alongside the whisper in the back of your mind that hinted towards something more than doing just studying with Draco.

Now, you found yourself looking forward to the weekly study sessions. Every Thursday night at eight o'clock, you would venture to the darkened corner of the library towards the restricted section to meet him. Which is exactly where you were headed now.

Slipping into the library hall, you scurry through the crammed tables, no more than half of them occupied by hunched groups of antsy students, and dart around stacks of precariously piled books until you come to a stop before your regular hidden table.

Draco is already there, lounging in his chair like a throne as he flicks lazily through the thick volume propped before him on the table. He doesn't bother to glance up at you - barely even raises an eyebrow - as he continues to turn pages, and you shuffle over to the chair opposite, only to pause in pulling it out when you find his feet propped up on the cushion of said chair.

"You're late." He announces, ignoring your huff as he remains in the same position. Pulling out the chair next to the one opposite him, you freeze in disbelief when it disintegrates into ash and dust at your touch, eyes widening when your head snaps up to catch sight of Draco smirking up at you, wand held loosely in his hand and pointed at where the chair had been seconds ago. "Oh dear."

"Why did you do that?!" You cry, still in shock that he had the audacity to do such a thing, never mind that you had no idea why he would do it in the first place.

"Shh. Madam Pince wouldn't approve of your shouting." He chastises languidly, and you continue to glare in disbelief.

"I don't think she'd approve of you blowing up the library furniture either!" You retort in a harsh whisper, to which he rolls his eyes and continues to flip through pages of the book, although he reaches out with his now-empty wand hand to draw the chair beside him out from under the table.

"Relax, I'll fix it before she even knows it's gone. Now sit." He demands, and so with little room for argument you find yourself plopping into the chair next to him. You reach into your bag to rummage around for your potions book, but he reaches out to stop you, a pale hand wrapping around your wrist. You jolt, and his fingers tighten as he tugs your arm away from your bag before letting go and depositing it onto the table top. "No textbook, I'll be testing you."

"Testing?" You echo, taken off guard. You glance at him curiously, but his face remains as cool and passive as ever.

"We'll start with something easy. What're the ingredients in the correct brewing order in Polyjuice Potion?"

Clearing your throat, you begin to answer, "Fluxweed, knotgrass, leeches, lacewing flies stewed for twenty-one days, boomslang skin, bicorn ho-"

Your voice cuts out suddenly. A hand is resting on your sock-clad knee, the same hand that had been latched around your wrist not all that long ago. Your eyes dart up to his face nervously, but he gives nothing away, continuing to gaze down at the book he was flicking through with his other hand.

"Keep going." Is all he says, and you shuffle in your seat for a moment before nodding, mostly to yourself.

"Um . . . B-bicorn horn, more, um, more lacewing flies, and p-"

Once again, your voice gives out; Draco's hand all the while had been creeping up your leg, until it had slipped under your skirt. Cool fingertips press faintly into the soft flesh of your bare inner thigh, and you squeak quietly.

"Do you want to stop?" He asks in the same blasè tone, and your mind stumbles to decipher the vague question. He said it as if referring to studying, but the fingers on your flesh squeezed gently on 'stop', and you take a moment to ponder. You glance over to the cold boy beside you to find him already staring intently at your face, no trace of cruelty in his expression - only patience as he awaits your response. As if on it's own accord, your head slowly shakes in wordless disagreement. No, you realise you don't want to stop, and he nods once.

"Carry on, then."

Swallowing thickly, you take a deep breath to steady yourself before pushing on with your answer, though your voice trembles with each word. "Lacewing flies, and p-part of th-the, uh, the individual that the d-drinker intends to trans-s-s-form int-oh!"

The entire time, his fingers continue to skim up the sensitive flesh, and it's the moment before you almost finish your response that those cool digits finish their journey up your thigh to make contact with the edge of your panties. They're simple ones, only plain cotton - not even a shred of lace or ribbon - and for a brief second you're embarrassed at the naivety of them, but then suddenly he's playing with the elasticated edge, rolling the hem between his thumb and forefinger absentmindedly, and your legs are parting in invitation.

Draco is toying with you, enjoying the way you stutter and stumble through your words and how your breathing hitches and jumps with every inch of skin his fingertips trail up. He watches you from the corner of his eye, the crimson flooding the high points of your cheeks that he had admired for ages, even before his first interaction with you in the library all those months ago. Your chest is already heaving with laboured breaths, lips parting as you huff quietly, and a faint smirk finds its way onto his lips as he continues on his exploration.

He's so close to you, his fingers so close to your core as they send jolts of blazing liquid desire coursing through you, and yet all he does his run those digits along the elasticated band, the soft pad of his finger brushing the fold of your flesh between the top of your thigh and what lay beyond the soft fabric of your panties. Squirming, you bite down on your lip, trying your best to control your breathing when you remember that you're sat in the library, and your eyes dart around anxiously, even though no one had ever interrupted you back in this corner ever since the first study session.

"Next question. Explain stage one of the brewing of Polyjuice Potion."

Your throat feels bone dry, and you have to swallow several times before your voice successfully squeaks out, "Three m-measures of fluxweed p-picked on a f-fuck!"

Draco's fingers had abandoned their grazing of the crevice of your groin to brush a single digit through your folds. Both of his brows shoot up at your exclaimation, and he pulls away, much to your disappointment.

"Didn't realise 'fuck' was something you picked fluxweed on." He comments casually, hand shifting deftly to cup your material-clad pussy, fingertips pressing lightly. Your thighs clench in response to the pressure, and a breathless whine slips out of you. "When should the fluxweed be picked?"

"On, ah, a f-full moon."

"Good. What's the next step?"

"Knotgrass. In the c-cauldron." You bite out as he continues to pet you.

"How much?"

"Uh, two bundles-s-s." You hiss as he pushes your panties aside to slide two fingers between your wet folds.

"And then?"

"Stir it." Fingertips find your clit, and your breath stutters at the contact.

"How many times?" He prompts.

"F-four times, clockwise." Draco abides your directions, four clockwise circles brushed against your throbbing clit by nimble fingers that return to running up and down the folds of your pussy.

"Very good." He murmurs, voice like honey and velvet as he praises you. "Next step?"

"Let it brew, f-for eighty minutes . . ."

"That's for a pewter cauldron. How long for a copper one?"

You can barely think straight, his fingertips are paused at your entrance, and despite your hips desperately pushing forwards, he stubbornly remains still, and you whine, trying to recall the answer. "Sixty mmm- _ah_ , minutes."

A single finger presses into you as soon as you recall the time, the digit long and sure as you take the first, then the second knuckle, until his entire finger is surrounded by your slick walls.

"Stage two?"

"Leeches, four, into the cauldron-oh!" He draws his finger out, quickly returning with two, and your hands scrabble with the edge of the table before you, nails biting into the aged wood at the sudden stretch.

"Then?"

"Lacewing f-flies, in the mort-aah. . . " You sigh, head lulling forward as his fingers begin to move, pumping in and out at a languid pace.

"How much?"

"Two scoops, c-crushed into a fine paste." Biting your lip, you fight against the drag of his fingertips and stretch of his knuckles. "Th-then two mmm-measures into the cauldron."

"And then?" He nudges, pausing, and you grit your teeth.

"Heat on low for thirty, ah, seconds."

He nods, pleased, and for thirty blissful seconds, he continues his administrations, picking up the pace and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. A startled moan escapes you, loud and breathy and high-pitched, and your hand darts up to clamp over your mouth in an attempt to quell any similar noises that might betray what you were doing to the rest of the students in the library. Draco freezes, and your eyes, which you can't recall closing, snap open.

"That's cheating." He chides, pausing in his page-turning to tug your hand away from your mouth. His fingers linger on your heated cheek for a moment, eyes like molten silver as they connect with yours, before he turns back to his book. "Next stage?"

"Add the shredded boomslang skin, three measures." You grind out, his frozen fingers still pressed deep into your pussy.

"How many, was that?" He asks, and you blink, certain that you were correct.

"Th-three-ah!" Your confusion is wiped away when he moves his hand, adding a third digit into the equation. Draco pushes them in slowly, and you can feel your stickiness dripping down as he stretches you deliciously.

He puts a pause on his relentless questioning, instead turning his full attention to your pleasure as he builds a slow rhythm, curling his fingers every time he plunges in deep. You whine and huff, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes at the intense pressure he was building within you, and when he returns to adding stimulation to your clit, you almost cover your mouth again to hold back your wanton moans before remembering that Draco had already told you not to.

And so your hand drops to clutch desperately at his forearm, fingers scrabbling with the rich cotton of his shirt sleeve as you try to ground yourself. He doesn't stop, nor does he push you away, and so you maintain your grip. Your tongue darts out to dampen your lip, and his eyes follow the movement. His facade starts to slip as he leans towards you, and you watch from behind lowered lids as his own lips part.

Suddenly, his fingers are withdrawing from inside your pussy, and a tear of sheer desperation and loss slips from your eye before Draco is swiftly twisting to grab you by the hips and dragging you towards him. Your knees clatter against his as he pulls you onto his lap, legs splaying onto either side as a pale hand snatches you by the hair and yanks you down for an open-mouthed kiss.

It's savage, hot and fast, with teeth colliding and breaths mingling, and your trembling fingers mess up his platinum hair, clutching at the silken strands whilst his free hand fumbles desperately at your shirt to tug it free from its confines of your skirt's waistband. Draco grunts in frustration, redirecting his administrations to harsh biting kisses along your jawline and down your exposed throat, and you catch a glimpse of his furrowed brow before your eyes slip closed once more.

His grip slips from your hair to join his other momentarily, and with one sharp tug, he yanks your shirt open, buttons flying in every direction. Your gasp of surprise is immediately swallowed up by a low moan as his mouth works its way along your collar bones before leaving a sucking bite over your left breast. His tongue laves over the mark, soothing the tender flesh before your hiss can turn to one of discomfort, and he pulls back to study it for a second before once again grabbing your hips and lifting you onto the edge of the table, his book forgotten as you knock it away.

"Draco . . ." You murmur, his name a breathless whisper as you look down at his face. Blown pupils are surrounded by a ring of starlight as he stares up at you, the sharp contours of his usually-pale cheeks tinged with scarlet, and the lips that are so often stretched in a sneer are kiss-swollen and parted as quiet gasps of breath break free. Your fingers loosen their hold on his hair to study his face, tracing his temples, the hollows of his cheekbones, along the razor-sharp jawline. One delicate fingertip ghosts over his lower lip, and he shudders.

Cool hands slide from your hips, mirroring each other as they brush down your outer thighs, pausing to squeeze your knees, and he tugs them apart before trailing back up, fingers splayed to caress as much skin as possible. Your hands drop from his face to brace yourself against the table on either side of your hips. The pads of Draco's thumbs press against your inner thighs, and you tremble with anticipation as he tilts his head lower, gaze travelling from your face, your throat, your exposed chest, down your stomach, to pause on your skirt, half-hitched up your thighs and concealing his hands.

You wait with baited breath, frozen in the moment as you anticipate Draco's next move. His eyes only flicker up to your face for a split-second before hiking your skirt up around your waist.

"Hold it."

You abide his instruction, one hand sliding further back on the table as you lean back whilst the other clenches the crumpled fabric into a fist. Your blush deepens as he stares down at your exposed panties, plain white cotton and soaked through from his attentive administrations on your dripping pussy, meanwhile his palms rest atop your thighs, fingers millimeters away from the sodden material.

"Good girl."

Whining at his hum of approval, you almost miss his smirk before he leans forward in his seat, tugging your panties aside in the same moment. He drags his fire-hot tongue through your folds without warning, lapping up your fluids with the tip, and you jolt forward, eyes clenching tight as you bite back the high-pitched moan he evoked.

"Eyes open." He commands, pulling back a fraction, and your bleary eyes snap open to meet his hyper-focused gaze. "On me."

Nodding desperately, your nails claw at the table surface as he resumes, burying his face in your pussy as he laves at your swollen clit, running the tip of his nose through your folds and teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue. Draco's hands grip your ass, holding you still as your hips threaten to buck against him, and when your legs twitch, he only pauses to throw one knee sock-clad limb over his shoulder before resuming.

You can only watch Draco for so long before the intense pleasure takes over. Head thrown back, you gasp and moan as quietly as you can, failing to catch sight of Draco staring up at you, watching as your flushed chest rises and falls with each jagged breath drawn, admiring the arch of your throat and the inviting curve of your parted lips.

You can feel your climax drawing near as Draco maintains his attentions, nose nudging your sensitive clit as his tongue fucks you, his pace languid yet the force brutal, and suddenly, that elastic tension drawing taut within your core snaps, and a stuttering moan comes tumbling out of you as you cum over Draco's sharp face. Slumping forward, you bow over him, and it takes you several moments to notice that you had, at some point, grabbed at his hair with both hands to ride his face throughout your orgasm.

Fingers spasming, you slacken your grip on his hair and struggle to sit upright, a blush of mortification washing over you when the reality of the situation crashes down. "I-I-"

He interrupts your stuttering with the simple act of sitting up, and when his eyes meet yours, your voice dies in your throat. Reaching up, Draco absentmindedly wipes away at the lower half of his face with the back of his hand, wet with your arousal, before gripping you by the hips to slip you off of the table and back onto his lap. He leans back, the epitome of elegance despite your panting form draped across his chest, the chair once again his throne as he rights the book he had been reading and resumes flicking through it.

"You didn't finish going through the Polyjuice Potion." He points out, voice accuastional and completely contradictory to the gentle ghosting of his finger tips brushing the stray hair from your face. "We'll do it again next week." 


	2. Study Session Pt. 2 - Draco Malfoy/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pt 2 of study session requested by Dani_Trouxiane - I hope this is okay !! 
> 
> "You could do part two of this where after what happened in the library the reader is very embarrassed and thinks that Draco did it just to play with her feelings so she avoids him everywhere and he gets confused and goes after her?"
> 
> also happy new year!!! :)

It wasn't until much later on that night, when you were curled up beneath copious bundles of blankets and reminiscing upon the events that had unfurled between you and Draco in the library, that the delayed onslaught of your overwhelming embarrassment and anxiety smothered you.

It hadn't had a chance to set in before then; you'd been so busy catching your breath as you rested on Draco's chest, and then he'd repaired your torn shirt and smoothed out your tousled hair (to which you had shyly returned the favour), and then he'd ever so sweetly offered to walk you back to your common room - even going so far as to carry your bag, although he stopped at holding your hands - although the brush of his robes against your knuckles was enough to send a shiver through you.

But now, laying there in the darkness with nothing but your roommates' snoring and your own mind for company, the creeping thoughts of why were making themselves known. Why had Draco touched you? Why had he kissed you like a starved man? Why had he made you tremble and quiver and throb? Such thoughts made you flush crimson, a wave of mortification washing over you as you recall how you'd writhed against his face as your fingers buried themselves in his silver locks. Embarrassment gives way to something darker, as uncertainty and self-esteem make their presence known.

Why had he picked you? Was that the reason behind the study sessions all along? Was he even truly interested in you, or was this something else entirely? Were you just an easy target? Your teeth worry at your lip, nibbling at the flesh that had not all that long ago been kiss-swollen and left parted in anticipation at Draco's actions. Maybe it was a game to him - you'd heard of other boys doing similar things from other girls, tempting them away into broom cupboards to make-out with them, only to turn around and boast about it amongst themselves in the common room like a victory.

You'd even heard rumours started about things that were surely untrue, but what you'd done with Draco was more than making out, much more, and you knew that such a rumour - especially one with so much truth behind it - would surely destroy you. Tears well in your eyes at the thought, of Draco back in his own common room, bragging about his latest achievement to a circle of spiteful sniggering Slytherins, gloating about how easy you were to get to.

You remember how he was in his younger years, always so happy to shout about the latest victim to his bullying - this could easily be his newest game he'd been keeping quiet. Worming his way into a girl's heart, having his way with them, only to toss them aside and let everyone know exactly how little effort it took. You're sobbing now, smothering your face with a pillow to soak up your tears and swallow the cries of shameful heartache, and unable to tell what's upsetting you more; the fact that you were surely going to be the focus of gossip for the rest of the year, or that you'd fallen so suddenly for Draco and his game, only to end up hurt by your own eagerness to reciprocate his actions.

Sleep doesn't come to you until the early hours of morning, and, exhausted from your expulsion of overwhelming emotions, you allow your puffy eyes to finally close and welcome the relief of a dreamless sleep as the first rays of light streak into the room.

It's only a measly handful of hours worth of rest before you're being rustled out of bed by your dorm-mates, eager for Friday to be over and done with so that the weekend could start. You drag yourself from bed to sluggishly perform your morning routine, brushing off your friends' concerned queries with a painfully fake smile to hastily shuffle to the Great Hall.

Food is the last thing on your mind - between your anxiety and exhaustion, you doubt you could force much of anything past your lips - and as the trickle of Hufflepuffs begins to merge with the other houses, all impatiently bustling towards the promise of freshly prepared breakfast goods, your fear skyrockets. In fact, the moment you catch a flash of pale blonde hair in your peripheral vision, you dart off, breaking away from the crowd and scurrying off to your first class.

It's not until after you're stood trembling outside of the greenhouse, waiting for Professor Sprout's arrival, that your stomach gives a weak growl of complaint. You try your best to ignore it, shivering in the cool Spring morning breeze as you try to calm down by forcing great steadying breaths into your lungs. You try to recall if anyone had been staring at you as you had made your way to the Great Hall, but you'd been much to busy studying the ground in front of you and pointedly ignoring everyone to notice.

Professor Sprout is, as always, ever so pleased to see you, especially so early for a double period of Herbology, and you try your best to respond to the chatter of your head of house without giving away the emotional torment wreaking havoc on your mind. As the rest of your classmates trickle in - no Slytherins, only Gryffindors and other Hufflepuffs, thankfully - you can't stop your twitchy gaze jumping from face to face, eyes scanning each expression for any hint that they knew what you'd done last night in the library, having overhead a dramatic retelling from Draco over breakfast.

No one gives anything away, but it's not enough to put your mind at ease. Herbology is spent spilling Dragon dung and dropping tools, and you scurry from the greenhouses with soil caked under your nails the second the bell rings. It's not until you're about to round the corner to your next class that you realise you share it with Draco, and an unpleasant roiling of your stomach makes you think you might be sick. You're suddenly thankful you'd avoided breakfast.

Swallowing back the urge to heave, you force yourself the rest of the way to the Charms classroom, all but dragging your lead-heavy feet past the threshold and to your designated seat. A shuddering breath of relief escapes you when your hasty scan of the room reveals Draco to not be present, although such solace is short-lived when his platinum head enters the room just as the final bell cries out, his silvery eyes immediately scoping you out.

He strides casually over to you, a languid smirk right at home on his handsome face, and he stops in front of your desk to loom over you. Wide-eyed, you can only stare back, no matter how much you mind screamed at you to tear you gaze away. "We didn't get very far with our study session last night, shall we continue tonight?"

A shudder ripples through you, and you can't determine why - it was either at the suggestive tone his words sent through you, or at the horrific image your overactive imagination conjured up of all of his friends hiding amongst the library shelves to jump out, jeering. Your mouth opens, closes, opens again, jaw working as you try to force words out.

Nothing comes out, and so, swallowing, you force your trembling hands to still themselves, staring down at your fingers as if they were the most fascinating things in the world as they flattened themselves against the desk top. You jolt sharply when the tip of a wand enters your line of vision, and once again when Draco mutters ' _scourgify_ ' under his breath. Your eyes dare to glance up from your now pristine nails to look at him, noting the patience lining his features as he awaits your response.

"Thanks. I-I, um, n-no, I'm busy, I-" You pause, taking note of his friends blatantly staring at the pair of you; Blaise is watching casually, disinterestedly, meanwhile Pansy is glaring so hard you think you might spontaneously combust.

"You're busy?" Draco drawls, dragging out the question and turning it into something more of a jibe, one brow lifting as if assessing the truth behind your words.

"N- I mean, y-yes. Uh, I d-don't, um . . ." Your stuttering trails off as Draco's expression drops into a frown, and a nasty giggle erupts from Pansy. Once again, a wave of nausea washes over you, the thought of Pansy spreading gossip was the last thing you needed, and you jerk out of your seat to rush to Professor Flitwick just as he totters into the classroom, careful to give a baffled Draco a wide berth.

"Are you okay, my dear?" He squeaks, head craned back as he studies your pale face.

"I don't feel so good, Professor." You mumble lamely, hoping and praying he wouldn't push you any further.

"Oh no, of course, go and see Madam Pomfrey, you don't look so well." He advises with a kind smile, and you return it with a weak upwards twist of your own mouth, though you were sure it looked like more of a grimace than anything else.

"Thank you." And with that, you hurry from the classroom and head immediately to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey fixes you up with a measure of Naus-Ease potion to quell the churning in your stomach, and stern advice to have a hearty meal.

You're dismissed from the hospital wing before so much as half of Charms is finished, and, too anxious to return to the classroom lest your stomach achieves the amazing feat of expelling the anti-sickness potion, you decide to head to your common room to make an early start on your free period. Usually, you would spend the time in the library to study, but you don't think you could face returning not even twenty-four hours after what you'd done in there with Draco without dying of mortification.

It's not until you're curled up in an armchair that's swallowing you that you realise you'd left your bag back in Charms. Huffing, you consider getting up to fetch it, but the shame you'd feel, interrupting Flitwick's lesson to grab your bag whilst trying your hardest to ignore Draco and his cronies would surely be your undoing. Instead, you settle for huddling further into the armchair and whiling away the rest of the time before lunch by staring into the crackling fire.

At some point, your friends return from class, hurrying over to you as soon as they catch sight of your prone form. Their smothering concern leaves you doused in guilt at brushing them off this morning, but the shame still coursing through your body has you remaining stubbornly silent on the truth; you can only tell them that you don't feel well. Silently, you acknowledge that keeping the real reason from them is only succeeding in making you feel worse.

By the time free period is over - an hour spent trying to coax you out of your misery and successfully extracting a couple of genuine smiles as opposed to any actual studying - your friends manage to pry you from the cracked leather and guide you to up the Great Hall, where the smell that promised delicious food was tempting enough to overthrow your fear of everyone staring at you.

No one does though; everyone is chattering and laughing, as always, and you manage to relax enough to eat through an entire plate of food with your friends for distraction before your eyes interlock with Draco's across the hall. The last mouthful of your lunch slips down your throat like a lump of coal, and you hastily depart from your surprised friends with the half-true excuse of having to find your bag before darting from the hall.

You don't dare to look back until you're at the door, and when you do glance over your shoulder, you jolt sharply at the sight of Draco stalking towards you, his long legs eating up the distance between you at a jarring pace. All but running, you make your way down the half-empty corridors, making a dash for your next class, bag and books be damned. You knew Professor McGonnagall would not appreciate your lack of preparation, but you'd rather lose precious house points for forgetfulness than face Draco at this moment in time.

The remaining half of your day passes in much of the same manner; after a stern tutting from Professor McGonnagall and ten points down, you manage to claw twenty back during your double period of Care of Magical Creatures, and by the end of the day, you're making your way back to the common room to prepare for dinner, chattering amongst your friends all the while about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip tomorrow.

It's not until the barrels are in sight that you notice something else; a head of platinum hair, gleaming in the candlelight like a beacon. A torrent of anxiety pours over you once again. The entire day had felt like you were stood waist-deep in the ocean - constant waves of nerves wracking at your body and threatening to pull you under, only for you to lull yourself back into some sense of comfort. Now, as you drew nearer and nearer to Draco, you felt like you were about to be swept away by the current.

Part of you considers trying to sneak into the common room right under his nose - and another part of you thinks about turning tail and running. But his eyes are quick to seek you out, pinning you among the crowd and luring you in, despite the urges warring within. You drag your feet with each step, until finally, much to your dismay, you're at the entrance to your common room, the pathway blocked by Draco. He is stood almost toe to toe with you as he stares down his nose at you with an indistinguishable expression that you struggle to figure out, and you can only gulp silently.

He says your name, cool and clipped, and your eyes flit up to meet his before glancing away, the scuffs on your shoes suddenly incredibly interesting. "I've decided to do the extra study session before dinner. Come on."

And before you can even argue, Draco is stepping forward and slipping his hand out to grab you by the arm and drag you away from your baffled friends. You stumble along beside him, struggling to match his pace as he marches through the hall, shouldering past anyone with a sneer who dares to get too close. At first, you think he's taking you to the library for the impromptu study session, but then he's taking you down winding corridors and up staircases until you find yourself in a deserted part of the castle, with no one but Draco and the portraits for company, ignoring your feeble protests all the while.

He lets go of you suddenly, his arm snapping back to his side as he stares down at you, a not-quite scowl on his face, and you fidget with the cuff of your robe sleeves. It's deathly silent, the only sounds coming from a rambling portrait ten paces back, and yours and Draco's breathing. Glancing around, you take note of this fact, and your confusion mounts until finally you break the silence.

"I thought you said we were doing an extra study session?" You ask nervously; he only ignores you, and you swallow back the urge to ask once more.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm-" His question catches you off-guard, and you actually meet his eyes as you stare in bewilderment. "After we- after what happened yesterday, why wouldn't I avoid you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He growls, and the stress of the day combined with your lack of sleep finally gives way.

"Really? Do you think that I don't know what's going on here? I know that what happened in the library was just some game to you, something to brag about to your friends about the silly Hufflepuff girl." You all but shout, voice trembling. "To think that you'd stopped bullying people like you used to, how stupid am I?!I should have known that all the potions tutoring was just some new elaborate scheme for you to play with my feelings, only to tell everyone how easy it was to get me!"

He at least has the decency to look guilty at the mention of his cruelty in his youth, but he's quick to process your words and scoff in disbelief. "If that's what you believe, then you truly are stupid. As if I'd waste that much time just for a quick fumble in the library."

Tears are blurring your vision as his words bite at you, and you blindly jab your finger into his chest as you cry, "Then why would you play with my feelings like that?!"

Lighting fast, Draco's hand snatches yours away from his chest, using it as leverage to yank you close. You stumble into his chest, his other arm snaking its way around your waist, and you struggle against his hold.

"Because I wasn't playing."

You freeze. Sniffling in confusion, you reach up with your free hand to wipe your face on the back of your robe as you crane your neck to meet his eyes, brows furrowed as you try to comprehend his words. "What?"

Draco sighs, before a frown takes over his sharp face, as if trying to put his thoughts into simple enough terms that you would understand, much like during your study sessions when explaining a particularly complex potion. "I like you."

His declaration stumps you. You can only blink up at him. "What?"

"Is that the only word you know?" He snaps reflexively, and you flush.

"S-sorry, I Just . . . You like me?" You echo, not daring to be hopeful and still expecting half of the Slytherin house to jump out of the walls, screeching with laughter. Your eyes, still glassy with the remnants of tears, desperately search his for confirmation that his words were true.

"Yes, I just said that, didn't I?" He grits out, a deep blush seeping its way past his shirt collar to flood his pale face. It's slowly starting to come together now, all of the pieces; right from the start, when he'd taunted you on that first day in front of your friends, when he'd so uncharacteristically demanded you attend study sessions with him, the cautious touches he'd administered before you crumbled, the offer to walk you back to your common room. This was his way of showing you how he felt.

It's such a surprise, such a complete opposite of what you'd worked up in your mind since last night, that you actually laugh aloud, the sound of relief bursting from you before you can stop it. Draco draws back in shock, bafflement giving way to embarrassment, before a scowl twists his expression. "If that's-"

"No, no!" You yelp in between giggles, reaching up to clasp his face in both hands, an impossibly wide smile lighting up your face. "I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at _myself!_ This whole time I thought you'd told everyone what we did, and that everyone was talking about me behind my back - I've been worrying myself sick over it!"

His face softens at your admission, and he mimics your touch, reaching up with his free hand to cradle your jaw. You lean into the touch, Draco's thumb skimming your cheek as you do, before stretching up on tip-toes to reach his lips. He closes the distance, leaning down to brush his mouth to yours, and you eagerly respond, tongue darting past his parted lips before he quickly takes control, stumbling forwards to press you against the cool stone wall. Portraits on either side exclaim and mutter, but their comments are lost on you as you drown in Draco's attention.

The sheer joy of his admitted attraction makes the kiss sweet, but it soon gives way to something hotter, something primal, and his hands are soon slipping past your robes to seek out your skin. Your touch is just as hungry, grappling with his pristine shirt and yanking it out from the confines of his waistband, before moving on to fumble with the button and zipper. Teeth nip at swollen lips and Draco's mouth strays to latch itself to your jaw, meanwhile you successfully manage to get past the confines of Draco's clothing, one hand maintaining its grip on the rich material of his waistband whilst the other dips in to graze his cock, already half-hard and hot against your palm.

Draco hisses at the contact, hips jerking forward on instinct, and you gasp, liquid heat forming within you at the thoughts of what you wanted Draco to do to you, of what _you_ wanted to do to _him_. Drawing back, you respond to his whine with a chaste kiss to his flushed cheek before licking your palm, fighting the urge to break the heavy eye-contact that he had pulled away to bestow upon you, and you watch the protest die in his eyes as he watches your tongue trail a wet streak over your digits.

Your hand returns once again, and you grasp his cock firmly, now throbbing and firm. A hand tangles in your hair, tugging your head back as Draco returns his attention to your lips, and your hand finds a languid pace, fingers tracing the pulsing vein and thumb teasing the smooth head of his cock with each upwards stroke. He grunts into your mouth, the hand half-way up your shirt gravitating towards your breasts as your chest heaves, and he roughly yanks at your bra to free them, deft fingers immediately seeking out your nipple to pinch and toy with the sensitive flesh until it pebbled at his touch.

Pre-cum beads at his tip, your fingers catching the fluid and smearing it over his cock before you pause. Draco's hips thrust of their own accord, seeking out your touch, and you tug at the waistband of his trousers, urging him to pull away to glance at you curiously though heavy-lidded eyes. Lust weighs heavily on his features; his kiss-bruised lips are parted as he pants for breath, cheeks stained crimson and pupils threatening to swallow the silver ring of iris.

"What are you doing?" He asks, voice gritty with arousal as he watches you.

Slowly, eyes still on Draco's, you slide down the wall, until the soles of your shoes are flat against the wall and your sock-clad knees are digging in to the unforgiving floor, spread wide enough that you can feel the coolness of the stone through your soaked panties. Draco adjusts his stance as he stares down at you, one hand still tangled in your hair as the other braces against the wall, and you tug his clothing down just enough for his flushed cock to spring forth. Palms resting flat against his clothed thighs, you lean forward and tentatively run the tip of your tongue along the underside of his length, from base to tip, and he lets out a fevered moan, biting his lip in restraint.

"More?" You murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. Draco sees through you immediately; there was no way you'd be able to play him at his own game of talking through the entire act.

Wrapping your lips around his leaking tip, you lightly bob your head a few times, to which Draco quietly grunts; you're salivating at his cock weighing on your tongue, and you tell yourself to relax, desperate for more of him. You can feel his thighs tremble, the muscles tense beneath your palms as he fights against the urge to thrust, and so you dig your nails into his legs until his eyes snap open to meet yours. You manage a nod, fingers twisting in the fabric to tug him closer as you convey your intentions silently; it only takes him a moment before his fingers are flexing in your hair and his other hand is peeling away from the wall to cradle your jaw, fingers splaying against the side of your throat.

He starts gently, almost hesitantly, a subtle twitch of his hips that pushes his cock a fraction of an inch deeper into your mouth. Again, you tug encouragingly, tongue laving at the white-hot flesh in temptation. Draco thrusts again, the velvety head brushing against the back of your throat, and something within him snaps; he sets a rapid pace, hips snapping vigorously as he fucks your face. Saliva dribbles from your mouth and your pussy drools; your grip on his trousers is quick to adjust, one hand wrapping around the back of his thigh as the other slips past your skirt and panties to find your clit, and you can only whine and moan desperately as Draco's cock buries itself in your throat.

Draco's face is caught up in an expression of combined focus and sheer pleasure, teeth gritted as he fights against the urge to close his eyes; he's far too intent on watching you melt into complete debauchery, your chest heaving and hand disappearing up your skirt as an expression of someone who has been thoroughly fucked into bliss works its way onto your features. A needy whine leaves you, the vibrations sending a tremor up his spine, and his thumb strokes your cheek encouragingly, fingertips pressing into the back of your neck as he feels his climax draw near.

It's sudden, unexpected. Draco's hips stutter to a halt, the hand in your hair tightening its grip to the point of pain, but before you can complain, searing ribbons of cum are spilling down your throat. He tries to pull away, the tang coating your tongue and smearing against your lips as the last few drops spatter your flushed cheek, and you can only swallow what remains in your mouth. He runs a finger over your sticky cheek, and before he can pull away, your tongue darts out to run along the slender digit.

"I like you too." You whisper, and now it's Draco's turn to laugh. It's a quiet huff, but there's relief - emotional as well as sexual - written across his face, and his hand untangles itself from your hair to brush the stray locks away from your sweat-damp skin. Tenderness washes over you as he looks down, studying your rumpled apparel and the hand still tucked into your drenched panties, and he drops down to a crouch before you.

Before his hand can slip past your skirt, however, you grab his wrist. "It's okay."

"But-" You shake your head, interrupting his protest, though you melt at his concern; his ruffled hair sticks to his forehead and he's still gasping for breath, but his eyes are almost fervent in his desire to please you.

"It's time for dinner, Draco." You explain, earnest, before a smile that is both bashful and hopeful graces your face. "We can continue the study sessions later tonight."

The scorching kiss that he delivers is enough to confirm his agreement. 


	3. Missed You - George Weasley/Reader

Hogwarts was one of your favourite places in the world. The Burrow was also one of your favourite places in the world. However, your reigning favourite had a tendency to switch between the two whimsical locations based on one crucial factor - Your favourite would always be the option where you could find George Weasley.

The youngest Weasley twin was currently residing at the Burrow, and so it was your current favourite place. You had been invited to stay for the latter half of the summer holidays, courtesy of one Molly Weasley, who was eager for your soothing effects on one of her troublemakers, even if it was the somewhat calmer of the two.

It was a surprise - one that the two of you had been planning for several days, and so it is in the dead of night when you arrive, knocking almost silently on the paint-chipped front door as you wait for the woman who was practically your second mother to answer. Your ears catch onto the sound of shuffling footsteps, and when the door creaks open, a beam of warm light washes over you, before eager arms are wrapping around you to drag you in.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, my dear!" Molly had coos, pulling back to beam at your face before drawing you back in for another hug. You return the embrace enthusiastically, having melted into her arms as you enjoy the affection, before finally pulling away.

"Thanks for having me, Mrs Weasley." You murmur shyly, and she pats your arm gently, a fond smile lighting up her motherly features.

"I've told you a million times, dear, call me Molly!"

Grinning an apology, you shuffle further into the welcoming environment of the Burrow, the crackling flames in the fireplace stoking the cozy atmosphere that the Weasley home always radiated despite being in the peak of summer. The door closes quietly behind you, quelling the cool breeze from outside, and Molly joins your side at once, ushering you in further. "Your trunk is hidden away in my room for now, I'll have it put in Ginny's room first thing in the morning - to think that I've actually managed to keep your visit a secret from this lot!"

A quiet bubble of laughter slips past your lips at her proud rambling, and you gracefully decline her offer of tea before asking if you can simply go to bed.

"Of course you can, dear, we don't want you too tired to surprise everyone in the morning! Oh, I can't wait to see the looks on their faces when they find out! Especially George's - honestly, he hasn't stopped talking about you these past few weeks!"

You grin despite the deep flush finding its way onto your cheeks, and you part from her with one last hug, before beginning your ascent and creeping up the rickety stairs. You knows that she expects you to slip straight into Ginny's room, where she was sure to have set up a spare bed for you as soon as the youngest Weasley had fallen asleep, and so you feel slightly guilty when you pass by her bedroom and carry on to the shared room of the twins. Pausing in front of their door, you make the decision to slip off your shoes before grabbing onto the handle and easing it open, moving as slow as possible as you listen out for any sounds, be it from the twins or yourself should you step on a creaky floorboard.

Any semblance of guilt instantly dissipates when you poke your head through the gap between the door and its' frame, eyes immediately scoping out George in the watery moonlight slipping through the open window. The younger twin is sprawled out on his bed, blankets twisted around his prone form, and you sneak into the room, carefully picking your way across the floor until you're only a few feet away from his bed. You take a moment to study him, admiring the sleep-ruffled locks of flame-coloured hair and the dark lashes skimming over freckle-spattered cheeks. The peace on his face is a contrast to the mischief that usually lit up his features, and you admire the curve of his parted lips as he huffs in his sleep.

Holding back a snort of amusement, you creep closer, slowly kneeling onto the edge of the bed, and he subconsciously shifts in your direction as your weight dips the mattress. Biting your lip, you reach out and cover his mouth with your hand - his eyes jerk open immediately, darting wildly in the darkness, and you're glad you know him well enough to muffle his grunt of surprise.

"Shh! It's me!" You whisper-yell, grinning down at him as he blinks up at your looming figure, bleary eyes wide as his sleep-riddled mind tries to figure out who was trying to murder him in his sleep. " _George!_ "

A squeak escapes you as broad hands grab at you, one scrabbling at your hand still over his mouth whilst the other plants itself in the middle of your chest, preparing to push you away. George freezes in that moment, finally figuring out who it is, and his brows furrow as he tugs your hand away. "Bloody hell, love, you scared the shit out of me!"

Giggling quietly at his chastising, you lean down and press a light kiss to his pouting lips.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself." You murmur against his pliable mouth, savouring the pressure that you'd been without for the past few weeks before pulling away again.

"What're you even doing here?" George mumbles. He shuffles his grip on you, wrapping a solid arm around your waist and pulling you down onto his chest, and when he catches sight of your raised brows, he leans up to plant a hasty kiss to your lips before continuing. "Not that it's nice to see you or anything."

"Wow, what a charmer," You comment wryly, before continuing on to explain. "I've been planning this visit with your mum for ages. I was going to surprise you all in the morning but I couldn't wait that long to see you again - your mum said you wouldn't stop talking about me."

A soft smile works its way onto George's face as you talk, and his free hand reaches up to brush loose strands away from your face. "Well, that's because I missed you."

You melt at his simple declaration, beaming down at him before pressing a slow kiss to his lips. He's quick to reciprocate, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, but you only allow him a few more gracious seconds before your lips twitch into a devious smirk against his, and you pull away. George looks up at you curiously, taking in the glimmer in your eye and the delicate press of your fingertips against his chest, skin-on-skin contact barred by the thin jersey of his sleep shirt.

"I missed you too," You whisper, tongue darting out to trace the edge of your lower lip as your head tilts to the side. "Let me show you how much I missed you, Georgie . . ."

He swallows thickly as you sit up fully, hands trailing down his chest to stop at the hem of his shirt. Your ass presses firmly against his slowly hardening cock, and he's only half-aware of you toying with the waistband of his pyjama bottoms as the pressure sends a jolt shooting through his body. George shoots a nervous glance over to Fred, passed out in his own bed and completely oblivious to the happenings only a few feet away from him.

"W-what about Fred?" He huffs, glancing from your face to where your body met his.

As if you'd been waiting for such a question, you reach behind you and grab a blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders like a cloak. You stare down at him with one arched brow, as if silently daring him to argue. "You're just going to have to be quiet, baby."

You slip further down his body to lay between his spread legs, flat palms resting against the tops of his thighs as your face aligns with his tenting crotch. Glancing up the clothed plane of his chest to meet his eyes as he stares down at you, eyes wide and lips parted in anticipation, you pause to give him a cheeky grin before flipping the blanket up over your head to hide yourself completely. Your fingers curl around his waistband once again, and you slowly tug them down; George lifts his hips enough for you to slip them down, and his thick cock is suddenly inches from your face, already oozing pre-cum.

A single finger reaches out to ghost over the hot vein that runs up his length, and his hips jerk forward for more contact. You giggle breathlessly beneath the cover of the blanket, before leaning in to follow your finger's path with the tip of your tongue, and George hurries to slip his hands underneath the blanket, scrambling in the blind darkness to find purchase on your hair. Repeating the action a couple more times, you pull back for only a moment to give your palm a sloppy lick before gripping at the base of his cock and taking the tip into your mouth.

George grunts at the wet heat enveloping him, eyes clenched firmly shut as he forces himself to breathe deeply, all the while your tongue makes use of itself, twirling around the head before dipping your head to lave further down his cock. His fingers tighten in your hair, and your thighs rub together at the wetness that was starting to make itself known between your legs. Focusing on your task at hand, you pull back until only your lips are wrapped around the tip before bobbing down and taking him deeper, his head brushing the roof of your mouth and threatening to hit the back of your throat.

One of your hands busies itself with running up and down the remainder of his length, wrist twisting in tandem with your head each time to pull up to the tip, meanwhile your free hand slips between the bed and your own body, past the waistbands of your sweatpants and panties, and finally, mercifully, you find relief as your fingers make contact with your throbbing clit. George's grip loosens and tightens with the pace of your ministrations, his heavy panting spurring you on, and when a strangled moan slips out of him, you decide to take it up a notch. Your arousal is now a throbbing heat, pussy drooling for George's attention as you desperately try to quell your own desperate arousal, and it gives you the strength to relax your throat enough to take his cock even further.

"Fu-u-u-ck!" He grunts, and you slowly pull away, despite his hips following eagerly.

The tip of his cock pulses against your lower lip as you hiss a stuttering 'shh!' at him, still aware enough of the sleeping twin on the other side of the room, before continuing. His cock buries itself down your throat, saliva dribbling past your slack lips and soaking your hand at the base of his pulsing cock as you focus on taking his whole length, never-mind the broad girth that you craved to be stretching a different part of you altogether.

George's grip tightens in your hair, tugging you back urgently, and you only manage to pull back enough for the head of his cock to rest on your tongue before suddenly thick spurts of his cum were painting the back of your throat and tongue. It takes you by surprise, and you jump back the rest of the way, leaving the remaining ropes of his orgasm to hit your cheeks and lips. Withdrawing your soaked hand from your pants as you swallow the salty fluids, you duck back out from under the blanket to meet George's heavy-lidded gaze.

His broad chest is heaving, hair damp with sweat as his flushed face glows as bright as his hair. George's hands, still tangled in your hands, work their way out of the mess they'd made; one hand remains to push back stray locks, whilst the other reaches out and fumbles with his bedside table before returning with a tissue. He hastily wipes at your face, removing any evidence of what you'd done just moments before, and you smile at the sweet act, tongue darting out to savour the lingering taste still coating your lips.

Grabbing the tissue to rid your fingers of your arousal, you can feel George's curious gaze taking in your actions before he realises what you had been doing. Grabbing it back and tossing the tissue aside to worry about in the morning, George drags you up to press a heated kiss your parted lips.

"Merlin, I can't _wait_ to show you how much I missed you." He mumbles, voice husky, as a sneaky hand finds purchase on your ass and gives it a firm squeeze.

"Mmm, I bet you can't," You whisper, before pulling away, albeit regretfully. "But it's going to have to wait until the morning, because I seriously need to get to Ginny's room before your mum figures out what we're doing."

"You sure I can't convince you to stay a bit longer to let me return the favour?" He tries, bright eyes curious as he entwines his fingers with your own that were playing with your pussy not even a minute ago. Biting your lip at the temptation, you indulge him with one last heated kiss before pulling away with a regretful pout. 

You slip out of his bed, and George starts to protest, reaching out to catch your hand once more, but you dance away, pressing a finger to your lips in a gesture to remain quiet. "Shh, you don't want to wake Fred."

Dark eyes study his identical counterpart as the younger twin considers throwing all caution to the wind, before deflating as he accepts it, turning his wistfully lusty gaze back to your form, still wrapped up in his blanket. "I'll be expecting that blanket back here by tomorrow night."

Grinning at his grumbling, you tiptoe out of the room, whispering over your shoulder, "Don't forget to be surprised in the morning!"

And as the door closes and you creep back to Ginny's room, a disgruntled Fred hisses to his suddenly bashful younger twin, "Can you two horny buggers not disturb my beauty sleep next time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) I rlly love George :) and Fred :) and literally every other Weasley (except for that lil bitch Percy)


	4. In his Nature - Remus Lupin/Sirius Black/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Charlotte483 - I hope I did you justice :)

Remus' fingers are soft on your bare skin as he explores the expanse of your back, the ghostly caress that traced your spine sending shivers throughout. His other hand is cradling the side of your face, long fingers running across the jut of your cheekbone, and the curve of his lip moving against your own makes your grip tighten against his shoulders. The pair of you had already made love - Remus was always too tender with you for it to be just fucking - and the soft display of affection relaxes your overworked muscles.

He sighs your name against your parted mouth, and you pull away just enough to study his features; pale green eyes are stark against his flushed cheeks, and lit up by the cool winter sunlight to reciprocate your gaze; you find yourselves staring into each other's eyes, locked in an embrace of skin on skin in the quiet dormitory room. Remus' fingers pause on your small of your back, fingers splayed and palm hot against you, and you lean into the hand still caressing your face, a small smile toying with the corners of your lips.

"It's a shame Sirius didn't choose to stay behind with us," You murmur, tilting your head to press a kiss to his palm. "We rarely ever get alone-time together."

Remus hums in agreement. "You know him, any excuse to entertain the masses."

A quiet giggle escapes you as you imagine Sirius and James, alongside Lily and Peter, the four of them messing around in the snow that blanketed Hogsmeade. They had probably staged a snowball fight with several other students, and you had no doubt that many of the girls had clamoured to be on Sirius' team, eager for any opportunity to interact with him. The thought makes you sigh quietly, and you droop on Remus' chest; as if reading your mind, Remus' hand leaves your cheek to brush through your hair soothingly, the other hand resuming its tracing of your spine.

"Don't worry about him, love, he might be a show-off but he only has eyes for us." He reassures you, and you roll your eyes. You know it's the truth, but that doesn't mean you can't be annoyed by his constant elaborate pranks when he could be spending time with you and Remus.

"He's a complete attention-whore. I know we're not the only people in his life, but you'd think he'd want to spend a _bit_ more time with us, at least." You grouch with a huff, sitting up suddenly to straddle Remus. He stares up at you with both eyebrows raised, tentatively resting both hands on your hips. The bed sheets pool behind you, now only covering Remus' legs, and you shiver at the cool air as your nipples peak.

Despite his eyes drinking in your naked body that he had enjoyed only moments before, Remus is quick to drag his eyes away from the temptation and focus on quelling your frustration at your shared partner. "Honestly, love, don't think about it. You know how much we mean to him, how much you mean to him. It's just in his nature."

"What's in who's nature?" A familiar voice drawls, and your head whips around to catch sight of Sirius leaning against the doorframe, a smug smirk tugging at his handsome features as he admires you on top of Remus.

Scowling, you turn back to an unsurprised Remus and glare down at him, accusation clear in your expression. "You knew he was staying behind the whole time?"

"He mentioned about leaving early and taking one of the secret passages back." He explains with a shrug, and Sirius must have pushed away from the door frame, because his hands are suddenly on you, wrapping in your hair to tug your head back. Neck arched, you meet his eyes with your own narrowed, and he simply grins down at you.

"Surprise, sweetheart."

"Ugh, I hate you both." You mumble, but your traitorous body melts when Sirius leans down to kiss you, hard and hot, and when he pulls away, he takes your breath with him.

"No, you don't." He replies, always so cocky and self-assured. "Does she, Moony?"

"I wouldn't be so sure, she thinks you prefer the attention of your fans over us." Remus jokes, and Sirius raises his brows at the silent challenge he is presented with.

"Is that so? Well, looks like I'll just have to prove to you both just how much I'd rather have your attention."

The bed dips as he sits on the edge, your face instantly gravitating towards his, and once again his lips find yours, eager to lay claim and prove his loyalty. Remus shifts beneath you, and moments later you feel his lips at your neck, delicate butterfly kisses trailing down the column of your throat, skimming across your clavicles, and ghosting down until they seek out the source of your pulse.

He sucks a gentle mark onto the flesh over your heart, which currently hammering away in overdrive at the devoted attention from them both. Your hands grapple with his short hair, already tousled from your previous encounter, only for one to slip away to graze Sirius' sharp jaw as his tongue delves deeper into your eager mouth.

Sirius, usually so languid and sensual, seems to have upped the ante, because his ministrations are abnormally urgent, almost desperate, and when he tugs at your hair once again, he only pulls away for a moment to catch his breath. Slate-grey eyes are engulfed by lust-blown pupils that hurry to take in your features before once again diving in to claim your lips with his. Your fingers writhe their way into his dark locks, always so effortlessly styled, and you try your best to leave it in as much disarray as yours surely will be by the time they were finished with you.

Beneath you, Remus' cock is twitching, the hard flesh burning against your throbbing pussy as the heat of arousal flashes through your veins. You shift, grinding slowly against him, and he grunts against your chest, where he had busied himself with sucking and kissing at your breasts; he pauses in his ministrations, head lolling back and mouth parted as your dripping pussy runs up and down the length of his cock. His arms are coiled tight around your back, and he loosens one arm for you to lift up as he grips himself in a trembling fist to jerk himself.

You're finally granted oxygen when Sirius pulls away fully to watch Remus coming undone beneath you. At some point, he'd managed to work his belt and pants open, and he now sat back to stroke his own pulsing length with the hand that had previously been occupying your hair, matching the same pace as Remus who gasped and groaned before you. Grips going slack in both of their hair, you plant your hands firmly on his chest and push him down; Remus pauses in his actions to stare up at you looming over him with bleary eyes, and when you crawl further down his overheated form, his fist pauses in it's rhythmic actions.

His legs part on their own accord, and you lay down in the valley created. Lips parted, your tongue darts out to catch the beading pre-cum before you take the velvet head in your mouth. He moans, long and low at the wet heat enveloping his cock as you take more of his length, inch by inch. Sirius watches, entranced at the sight of one lover guiding his cock down the throat of his other lover, and his hand stutters to a halt as his mind short-circuits.

You pull away all too suddenly, resisting the tugging of Remus' hands now coiled in your hair as he tries to guide you back to his awaiting cock. Instead, you tilt your head and glance over at the captivated man beside you.

"Sirius . . ." You purr, and Remus' hips jolt as your breath ghosts over his sensitive flesh. "Aren't you going to fuck me?"

Spurred on by your invitation as you return your attention to Remus, he scrambles over to the foot of the bed; your feet dangle off the edge of the bed, and his broad hands slide up your calves, long fingers spreading at your thighs so he can dip his thumbs between the sensitive inner flesh. He pauses at your ass, giving a firm squeeze before letting go, only to deliver a swift smack that makes you jerk and gag on the cock buried in your throat.

Before you can pull away to glare at him, Sirius is grabbing you by the hips and yanking your lower half upwards until you're propped up on your knees, reddening ass and dripping pussy presented to him like a gift as he clambers onto the bed behind you. Hands return to grip your ass on either side, before a white-hot tongue buries itself deep in your core. A strangled moan works its way past Remus' cock, and you drool as Sirius makes quick work of eating your pussy like a starved man.

You struggle to retain your focus on the task at hand, alternating between letting his length work its way down your throat and lazily suckling on the throbbing head. Sirius' dedication to oral worship is cut short when he pulls away, running his fingers through your drenched folds to hastily coat his own cock in your arousal before shifting to align with your awaiting pussy.

There's only a moment of resistance before his thick length is pushing deep into you, the firm grip on your hips anchoring you to him, meanwhile one of Remus' hands seek out your own to entwine your fingers together, the other stroking at your hair soothingly, encouragingly, and you're distantly aware of their combined praises through the haze of intense pleasure ensnaring you.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart, you feel incredible." Sirius grunts when his trouser-clad legs finally brush up against the backs of your quivering thighs. The cool metal of his zipper digs into your ass as his cock buries itself to the hilt, completely sheathed by your velvet heat.

Remus moans wholeheartedly, your mouth having gone completely slack as Sirius begins to move, dragging out slowly only to thrust back in sharply, the curve of his cock combined with the angle creating a delicious friction that has you drooling on Remus' length. Mercifully, Remus lifts your head off of his length to rest against his thigh, his hot digits dragging through your tangled hair affectionately as his other hand, still interlocked with your own, comes up to continue pleasuring himself with your guided help.

There's something intimate about it - even more so than the two men simultaneously worshipping you - your face level with Remus' cock as his hand guides your own up and down its length, his grip having adjusted to swallow your own hand in his. It only takes a few strokes of your hand for him to come undone; his hips jolt, a strangled grunt escaping him as his hand tightens on yours and ropes of thick cum shoot out to paint his stomach. A few ribbons manage to make contact with your flushed cheek, but before Remus can reach out and wipe it away, Sirius is suddenly yanking you back.

His shirt is damp with sweat against your back, and one strong arm cages you against him, a solid bar of steel beneath your breasts. The other grabs your jaw, fingers smearing the sticky fluid against your skin as he forces a hungry, open-mouthed kiss to your swollen lips, before swiping up the remaining cum and slipping the salty-coated digits past your lips for you to suck. His thrusts are erratic, falling in and out of rhythm as he struggles to maintain the pace, chasing his own pleasure. Remus' digits seek out your pulsating clit, and it only takes a few strokes from his deft fingers before you're coming undone, pussy spasming and clenching around Sirius' cock as you all but scream in the ecstasy you're drowning in.

He lasts four more thrusts before climaxing himself, slumping against your back and forehead bowing against your shoulder as he emits a low moan in your ear. Remus' fingers continue to work your clit, until you whimper desperately at the overstimultion. Sirius is slow to pull out of you, savouring your twitching walls, and you grimace at the fluids oozing out of you to trickle down your thighs. With a lazy flick of his wand, Remus cleans you up, and you collapse gratefully against his heaving chest. Sirius leans down on you to catch Remus' lips in a lazy kiss, lingering, before rolling over to sandwich you between the two of them.

Sirius kicks off his trousers, which had worked their way down to his knees from the vigorous pounding he had administered upon you, and gets as far as unbuttoning his shirt before leaving it to hang undone off of his sweat-damp chest. Shifting onto your back, you toss a leg over one of Sirius' and maintain your grip on Remus' hand, still trying to catch your breath. You cast a subtle glance from one to the other, simply admiring their crimson-stained cheeks and heaving chests; forest-green eyes are heavy with satisfied exhaustion to one side of you, and a languid smirk is sprawling across the handsome face on the other side of you.

Yes, you would say that Sirius had proved just how much he valued yours and Remus' attention, and then some. 


	5. Room of Requirement - Fred Weasley/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As requested by MissAda - I hope you enjoy!!

You learnt pretty early on into your relationship with Fred Weasley that nearly everything he did was with an unbridled sense of enthusiasm; whether it was planning the latest prank with his twin, seeking out situations to induce mischief, or even simply when defending his friends and family, Fred always did so with an unrivaled streak of passionate energy. It was what had drawn you to the older Weasley twin in the first place.

Right from your first interaction with him, your life did a one-eighty. The dull monotony of your school life that was so overdue a shake-up came in the form of one fire-haired, freckle-doused troublemaker, and it was enough to make you forget all about feigning to uphold the image of Slytherin. Though many of the house qualities lay within you - ambition and resourcefulness, first and foremost - their idea of superiority above all others was not something that you shared an agreement with.

After all, a Slytherin will do anything to get what they want. And what you wanted? Well, that was the man currently dragging you up to the seventh floor of the castle's left wing, a crooked grin lighting up his face as he glances over his shoulder to take in your half-running, half-stumbling form.

A breathless giggle slips past your lips as he begins to slow his pace, and when the two of you draw close to a curious tapestry of tutu-clad trolls, he turns to walk backwards, not even pausing in his steps to tug you close and wind his arms around you. Fred leans down to plant an eager kiss to your lips, and before you can reciprocate, he's spinning you around, still pacing backwards to retrace his steps.

He repeats his actions once more, a firm, promising press of his mouth against yours followed by a sudden turn. You finally manage to wriggle your arms out from where they had been trapped between your chests to ensnare his face between your palms, fully intending on dragging his face down to kiss him long and hard, only for the shuddering grind of great stone slabs shifting to draw your attention to the wall that was now gaping open to reveal a hidden room.

"Well, this is new." You comment, peering curiously into the room that had just appeared before glancing back up to Fred, who is smirking down at you, pride and anticipation mingling into what would be an adorable expression if not tinged by the all-encompassing lust blowing his pupils and staining his cheeks.

"Found out about it recently," He explains casually, hands slipping down from your waist to cup your ass, and a wicked grin reveals his intentions. "Thought we could _explore_ it."

Liquid heat pools within you - something about the blatant innuendo of 'explore', coupled with that devilishly handsome face as he stared down at you. It's the push you need for your hands to slip back down to grip at his shirt collar and yank him into the room, this time you being the one to walk backwards. He follows eagerly, hurrying into the candle-lit room, and kicks the door that had mysteriously appeared closed behind him without a even half a glance.

You break away to study your surroundings for a moment, taking stock of the canopy-draped bed and dripping candles on every available surface. Even Fred takes a second to admire your surroundings, somehow managing to look impressed himself despite claiming to have found the room.

"This is romantic for you." You mumble with a wry smirk, brows raised as you watch his eyes drift around the room once more.

"Hey, I can be romantic!" He exclaims, cradling you close to drop a tender kiss to your temple as if to prove his point. "This place is called the Room of Requirement - turns into whatever you need it to be, and I needed it to be a romantic spot for my gorgeous girl."

"You needed a 'romantic' spot?" You press, one brow lifting, although your heart melts at his words.

"Well, not that I don't enjoy our little midnight rendezvous in the kitchens or my dorm, but I thought we could do with somewhere a little more . . ." He gives pause as he considers the right word, and your heart beats double-time at what was sure to come; sure enough, Fred runs the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, walking you backwards until your knees buckle against the bed, flopping down to stare up into his molten chocolate eyes. ". . . private."

Fred studies you - lips parted in anticipation, cheeks flushed, eyes hooded as they mirror the lust in his own. A broad palm cups your jaw, fingers splaying across your warm cheek as his thumb takes its time tracing the curve your of bottom lip, before daring to slip into the corner of your awaiting mouth. Your tongue is quick to envelope the digit, sucking gently as you maintain eye contact; Fred swallows, his breath deepening as his pupils dilate like a spill of ink. Pulling back, his thumb slips from your mouth with a wet pop, and you smirk lazily up at him.

"What did you have planned for this _private_ room, then, Freddie?" You breathe, steeling yourself against the temptation of simply grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him down on top of you, especially when he shudders at his name, whispered like something akin to a prayer if only it wasn't with such filthy intonation. Instead, you wait for him to put his own plans in motion.

"Well, I thought we could get naked for a change." He jokes, and your laughter bursts out of you; certainly, the pair of you got up to plenty of mischief together, but never more than a few half-undressed quickies in the broom closet or a heavy make-out session in the kitchens before an over-eager house-elf would interrupt with offers of cake.

He drops down onto the bed beside you, knees bumping into yours as he twists to face your awaiting form, and you watch his every move in anticipation that increases with every passing second. Fred reaches out, curling a long arm around your waist and pulling you closer whilst the other cups the back of your neck, and your hands find purchase on his broad shoulders of their own accord as he closes the short distance. It's a swift kiss that quickly turns heated, your fingers all too soon loosening the knot of his tie as Fred tugs the robe from your shoulders to pool on the bed unceremoniously.

The gap between you closes when you shift from the bed and twist to straddle his lap, knees digging into the plush mattress as you grind against his cock, already hard and ready though the layers of clothing separating you. Fred grunts at the pressure, and you smirk against his mouth, daring to nip at his lower lip; it's enough to catch him by surprise, and you use the opportunity to push him back onto the bed before fidgeting with his shirt buttons. Your breathing comes fast and heavy, a pace that matches Fred's as his hands disappear up your skirt to grab your ass, pulling you closer still.

With his shirt finally splayed open, you barely have a moment to admire the vast expanse of pale, freckle-smothered skin before he's sitting up once again and removing your tie to reciprocate the act of removing your shirt; he only gets halfway through unbuttoning the crisp white cotton before deciding it was enough and latching himself onto the exposed arch of your throat, nibbling and sucking a path down the sensitive flesh and across your chest until coming to a stop at your clothed breasts. Fred wastes no time in fumbling with the waistband of your skirt to untuck your blouse, yanking it off impatiently and throwing it aside with one hand whilst the other busies itself with unlatching the clasp of your bra to toss away.

You lift yourself higher onto your knees, stomach pressed tight against his bare chest, and a breathless whimper escapes you when Fred's mouth once again reconnects with your skin, hot lips skimming the underside of your breasts before daring to caress your nipples. Fred's arms coil tight around your waist, pulling you close, and you run your hands through his hair, cradling his head. His tongue laves and swirls until they peak, and he takes the tender bud between his teeth to gently tug, to which you can only whine desperately, your fingers twisting in his fire-bright strands and yanking in pleasure.

Fred continues his admissions on your breasts, alternating between playful nips, earnest sucking, and adoring kisses, and you fight against your closed eyelids to peer down at him, admiring the sheer devotion and passion written across his face, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Lowering yourself until your ass once again rests against his lap, you almost laugh at the way his neck bows in his pursue of your breasts, until he can't no longer; he pauses only a moment before redirecting his attention once again to your mouth, to which you eagerly respond.

You grind against his lap, feeling his thick cock press against you, and your hands graze down his chest, fingers splayed in appreciation, before reaching your destination and getting to work on undoing his trousers. Like-minded, Fred loosens his grip to undo the fastenings of your skirt, before giving a light swat to your ass.

"Up," He grunts, but he's already lifting you to stand you up; your skirt slips from your body, and you kick it away, your shoes and socks quick to follow, as Fred does the same with his own remaining clothing, almost falling in his excitement.

Before you can remove your panties, already soaked, Fred is grabbing you by the waist and tugging you close. He's stripped bare, sat on the edge of the bed with his legs splayed, and you can only stare at him, a blend of awe and hunger alight in your eyes at his naked form. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down, the material peeling away from your glistening pussy that he can't look away from.

"Fuck, come here, sweetheart," Fred mutters, voice like gravel as he pulls you close. He runs a thick finger through your folds appreciatively, and when he pulls away to inspect it, he nods in approval at your liquid arousal before slipping the digit into his mouth and sucking it clean. "Hmm, you're fucking delicious, love. All of this, just for me?"

"Mm-hmm." You moan, nodding fervently as your fingers once again entwine in his hair, and he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before guiding you to kneel on his spread lap, shins pressing into the solid muscle of his thighs as your feet catch against his knees. Fred's lips find yours, desperation tingeing the rough movements, and when you shift closer, you jolt with a needy moan when the length of his throbbing cock brushes against your pussy.

"Shit," He hisses through clenched teeth, and one hand leaves your ass to slip between your bodies. Fingers trace your folds, finding your swollen clit to rub a trembling circle around the bundle of nerves before once again slipping back down through your slick folds to tease your entrance. Despite the awkward angle, Fred still manages to slip a thick finger into you, his thumb brushing against your clit with each knuckle that he sinks in; one, two, and three, and he pumps a couple of strokes before withdrawing, only to return with a second finger. Your pussy clenches around the intrusion, his expert digits working you open in preparation, and you can only moan and sigh wantonly against his lips.

You try to return the favour, one hand untangling from his ruffled hair to stroke at his cock, but you only get as far as wrapping your hand around his throbbing length before Fred is withdrawing his fingers and leaving you empty. He can feel your cry of desperation on your lips before you can even utter it, and his fingers, drenched in your arousal, seeks out your own around his cock.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, tonight is all about you." He soothes, and he gently pushes your hand away to pump his cock, your slick mixing with his beading pre-cum as his fingers twist against his tip. Fred leans back to stare down, eyes fixated on your pussy as he runs cock through your dripping folds, the tip nudging at your clit, and you can only grind yourself closer as he continues to tease you; with every half-thrust guided by his hand, the head of his cock would catch your entrance before slipping through your pussy lips to brush against the throbbing bundle of nerves.

"Fred, Fred, please," You beg, voice needy and breathless as you clutch at his shoulders. "Please, fuck me, Fred, I want you inside of me now."

"Anything for you, love." He murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw before aligning his dick with your entrance. "Ready?"

You nod earnestly, loose hair flailing about your shoulders as you gaze into Fred's burning eyes, your own heavy-lidded and glassy with tears of pleasure-fueled desperation. Slowly, achingly so, he pushes in, inch by inch, and your high-pitched moan reverberates through the room as his thick cock stretches you to your limits. Finally, he bottoms out, and through your euphoria, you catch sight of Fred, slack-jawed and panting heavily as he tries to hold still; around him, your pussy twitches and trembles, and your moans are met by strained grunts as his grip tightens on you, palms squeezing your hips and fingertips sinking in to the flesh of your ass.

Your hips shift experimentally, slowly lifting an inch before dropping back down, and you can only offer him a dazed nod before tightening your grip on his shoulders and rising again, the drag of his cock against your fluttering walls alighting each and every nerve within you. It's difficult to ride him in this position when you're so over-stimulated, and Fred is quick to note this; his grip on you adjusts, and he lifts you before dropping you back down, repeating the act until your hips are rolling and he's thrusting up to meet you. 

The room is filled with heavy panting and high moans, curses and profanity littering the air like prayers as sweat dampens your overheated skin and kisses become hungry clashes of teeth and tongue. You're distantly aware of your nails biting into Fred's shoulders, and when you drag them down his back, scrambling for purchase, Fred's hips stutter. Suddenly, you're being flipped, your back colliding with the rumpled sheets.

Fred looms over you, hasty hands grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist before burying his cock in you once more. You only have a moment to acclimatise before he starts to thrust, face buried in your neck, and the new angle combined with the sheer force as he drills into you makes the tension within snap. Your pussy clenches tight, walls spasming as you climax, and you can only chant his name as your hands clamp down on his biceps.

He continues to thrust throughout your orgasm, throbbing cock dragging against your velvet heat, until he finally shudders, hips faltering and stuttering to a halt as he cums deep within your trembling sex. Fred collapses against you, softening cock still buried in your pussy, before rolling over with an exhausted grunt and pulling out. Strong arms seek out your shuddering form, still desperately trying to catch your breath, and Fred pulls you over until your head rests against his heaving chest, his pounding heart echoing in your ear.

"Holy shit," You murmur when you finally find your voice. "That was good."

"Only good?" He mumbles around a yawn, prompting you to yawn yourself. "And here I was going all out."

A giggle huffs out of you, and you struggle to reach his lips to plant a reassuring kiss. "It was way more than just _good_ , I just don't have the words right now . . ." You pause, a wicked grin lighting up your glowing face. "Though I'm not quite sure that mind-blowing sex in a secret room is exactly what most would call romantic."

Fred laughs, hugging you close. "I thought it was dead romantic, love. Most romantic thing I've ever done, in fact. We might have to come here again in the near future, what'd'ya say?"

"Definitely." You agree with a resolute nod, your eyes straying from Fred's blissful expression to admire the room, before pausing on something you hadn't even noticed before despite your rather thorough scan of the room beforehand. "Bloody hell, there's even a shower in here, this room really is brilliant."

A cheeky smirk dances across his face as he gives your ass a playful swat. "How about we upgrade it to a bath and have round two in there?"

And, to your amazement, when you glance back up after a hungry kiss, you find that the shower has been replaced by a huge claw-footed bathtub, filled with steaming water. Yes, round two in a bath sounded like quite the upgrade, indeed. 


	6. I Promise - Sirius Black/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for Vannah, who requested some Sirius/reader action around the time of his Azkaban escape 
> 
> Also excuse the excessive poetic language that I seemed to have developed, apparently that's what happens when I listen to classical whilst writing?
> 
> by the way, I know a couple of people have requested a full Draco/Reader fic, and whilst I am planning one, I've not developed a full plot or concept yet. I have, however, developed a full plot for a George/Reader fic, which I will most likely be making a start on very soon, so stay tuned!! :)

You stand outside on the chilly street known as Grimmauld Place, shivering in the miserable chill that permeates the dingy air and seeps deep into your bones. You've been stood there for some time now, having apparated into the borough of Islington and walking the rest of the way - you told yourself that you did so to prevent the tracking of your actions, but deep down you knew it was to buy yourself more time. Beneath the weak glow of the dilapidated street light, you look on at the houses, counting their door numbers once more, as you had several times already - . . . _nine, ten, eleven, thirteen, fourteen_ . . .

You knew it was there, house number Twelve - had even been there once before, many years ago - but between the enchantments in place and your overwhelming fear to hope for what could be beyond those hidden walls, you can't find it in yourself to cross the street. And so you remain there, in the creeping darkness, and try your best to ignore the nosy muggle twitching her age-stained lace curtains to peak out at you.

There comes a moment when you admit to yourself that it's time to leave, that you'd been foolish to let yourself dare to dream of reuniting with the love that you had lost so long ago, and so you reach up with numb fingers to draw your cloak hood further over your face and turn to leave, when something catches in the periphery of your vision.

The sudden shunting of two houses, as if shoved aside by some great force, to which you spin around in wild anticipation. Number twelve springs into view, stood tall and completely at norms with its surrounding terraced twins, to which you can only stare, wide-eyed and with bated breath. An old curtain, sun-bleached velvet and moth-eaten, sways in the upstairs window of the newly visible house, and your eyes fixate on the implication of life within before darting down to the door.

It feels like a life time as you wait, quietly hoping and begging every great wizard and witch to have lived, for what you dreamed of to be true. The old door creaks open on rusted hinges, their screech cutting through the silent air like a serrated blade, and the gaping doorway shows only a tunnel of darkness, before a figure steps out to be bathed in the faint moonlight.

Dark curls of long hair frame a handsome face - even pale and exhausted, with sunken cheeks and deep circles like fresh bruises beneath his eyes, nothing could take away from his beauty. He's dressed in little more than a pair of slacks and a rumpled shirt, half unbuttoned, and as your feet take you closer of their own accord, your eyes make out the inky markings that decorate his chest from where they peak out. The toes of your boots bump into the bottom step, and you pause, staring up at him, refusing to get any closer lest he disappear like smoke.

"Sirius . . ?" You breathe, voice little more than a broken whisper. Something hot is trickling down your wind-bitten cheeks, and it takes a moment for you to realise that you're crying. Suddenly, he's at the foot of the stairs, calloused fingers trembling as they brush your tears away. The moment his skin makes contact with yours, you sob, almost collapsing as you throw yourself against him, clinging desperately to his shoulders as you fight to hold yourself up.

He utters your name, choked, as his own fingers scrabble with the material of your cloak, arms wrapping impossibly tight around you as he holds you close, clutching and cradling like you might crumble away into nothingness if he doesn't hold you together. Sirius buries his face into your hair, your hood having fallen down in your haste to cross the street, and you say nothing as his own tears fall, simply savouring the warmth and the presence and the flesh of the man you'd thought had been taken away from you forever. Cheek pressed close to his bare chest, you focus on the thrumming heartbeat beneath his pale skin, the reverberations comforting you enough to dare to close your eyes.

"Come, come inside," Sirius manages to get out, tugging at you to draw you up the stairs and into the darkness of the looming house. Neither one of you loosens your grip on the other, instead stumbling up the harsh stone steps in a tangle of limbs that would have been comical if not for the sheer overwhelming emotions smothering you. You're only vaguely aware of the door closing softly behind you, too focused on Sirius once again in your arms after twelve years, something you thought you'd never experience again.

"Remus got in contact with me, he told me he'd seen you since your escape, but I didn't want to believe it, I didn't want to come searching for you only to realise that I'd never see you again!" He holds you tight as you babble, his fingers combing through your hair as he repeatedly presses kisses to your crown. "I'm so sorry, I tried to get them to give you a trial but they wouldn't _listen_ , they threatened me with a charge for conspiracy - I even tried to hire private investigators but no one would help. . ."

Your words feel bitter on your tongue as you cry. Years of people's cruelty, treating you like you were a criminal for your associations with a notorious betraying murderer even though you knew that he was no such thing. How could he be? You'd never known someone to be as loyal or true-spirited as Sirius - all your years together since Hogwarts had proved that. All your efforts to overturn his punishment, to get the ministry to see sense, had led to nothing except loneliness and heartache through the years, and so as you try your best to explain yourself to Sirius, it feels like little more than shards of broken glass.

But he continues to cradle you, as if barely believing you were there in front of him, only whispering your name like a prayer. Pulling back, you peer up at his face, feeling your heart shatter once again as you take in the years of torment that Azkaban had bestowed upon him. "Oh, Sirius . . ." You whisper, fingers daring to caress his face, tracing his jaw and trying desperately to remember how it felt to do the same thing all those years ago. He melts into your touch, fighting the urge to close his eyes as he stares down at you, as if committing your features to memory.

Sirius knew he had no need to, the image of you had been carved into his brain, etched onto the inside of his eyelids for him to see every time he closed his eyes. Because even though he survived twelve years of Azkaban by obsessing over Peter's betrayal, and reminiscing the days gone by with James, it was you that kept him sane, the desperate hope that one day he might once again see your face, if only for a fleeting second. He mourns the years lost between you, but notes that age had barely touched you, having only lost some of the youthful fullness that had stubbornly clung to your cheeks up until the last day he'd seen you.

He takes you by the hand, tugging you deeper into the house, past a pair of musty velvet curtains in the hallway and other curiously grim and dark oddities decorating the walls, up flights of stairs until finally guiding you into a room, dimly lit and mostly undisturbed besides the small pile of clothing unceremoniously pooling at the foot of the bed. You realise with a start that he had been halfway though undressing when he'd come down to reunite with you, recognising the curtains he must have pulled back to see you in the street.

It is, perhaps, the only room in the house not covered in a thick layer of gritty dust - something that you had taken note of has he dragged you through the dark hallways. Quietly, you take in the grandeur of the room - the elaborate Persian rug that had once been thick and plush, the traditional brocade wallpaper that lined the walls up to the high ceilings, the dark wood furniture and carved poster bed. The door closes softly behind you, and you turn to find Sirius watching you.

Rough fingers once again return to your face, mirroring your actions as he gently traces your features. A smile dares to tug at your lips, noting how Sirius was as soft as ever no matter how hard he used to pretend otherwise; now though, there was no room to pretend. Over a decades worth of longing has built up, and neither of you bother with the old games that used to define your relationship - no coy smiles or playful, teasing touches. Desire, tinged by the years of pain and suffering, is slowly evaporating from your heart, filling your bloodstream with a heated need that has your fingers weaving into Sirius' hair as you pull him closer.

A hair's breadth dares to separate you, time freezing for an agonizingly long second, before your lips meet his and suddenly everything feels right again. All of your fears - of being followed, of Sirius being caught again, of Sirius being nothing more than a figment of your imagination - they all melt away as his lips meld against yours, pliant and trembling, with a kiss that felt like the first time and the last time and a thousand kisses in between. Longing deepens the kiss, lips desperate for more, and Sirius' fingers are quick, one hand remaining coiled tight within your hair to keep you close whilst the other dips beyond your cloak to explore your figure.

Deft fingers trace the arch of your spine, sliding low before curling around to skim the curve of your waist. Pressed tight against his body, you can feel every hard angle and smooth plain of him. Part of you breaks at the physical signs of his torment - the loss of muscle he was always so proud of and the raised scars you can feel even through his shirt - but another, deeper part of you, feels only hunger for the man you love.

All too soon, tongue and teeth clash together, hands pushing and pulling at clothing in haste. Sirius makes quick work of your cloak fastenings, the warm wool pooling at your feet, and you kick off your shoes before he backs up, collapsing back onto the bed and pulling you on top without pause.

"God, I've missed you _so much_ , sweetheart." He groans, fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips as you push closer to him, before snaking past your shirt to caress the bare skin of your waist. Eager lips trail from your mouth to caress your jaw, delivering a teasing nip to your earlobe before making their descent down the column of your throat to plant firm, open-mouthed kisses to your collar bones. Sirius takes his time, sucking languidly at the taut skin before pulling away to admire the darkened marks blossoming from his administrations.

Hips rolling, seeking friction, you grind against him, breathless whines puncturing the air as your fingers dance between twisting the fabric of his shirt and fumbling with the buttons. Sirius' hands catch yours, tugging them away, and you pause to glance down at him, catching something anxious, vulnerable, in the depths of his eyes. Without asking, you know the exact cause, gently tugging your hands from his grip to once again cradle his face.

"It's okay, we don't have to if you don't want to." You murmur in reassurance, the ghost of a kiss brushing at the high point of his cheek.

"No, no, I want to," He begins, brow furrowing, and his hands return to your clothed waist. "I just, I'm not exactly what one would call 'in shape' at the moment."

"You're always in shape to me," You quip, a cheeky grin flashing across your face, the hint of the relationship from twelve years prior, before sobering up. "Besides, who needs to get naked to have fun? Clothes can stay on, my darling."

Sirius leans up to kiss you, hard and hungry, before pulling away to put only a fraction of an inch between you, so close that his lips still skim yours with each word. "We certainly had our fair share of such incidents in our youth. I think it's high-time we take a trip down memory lane."

A squeal of excitement escapes you when Sirius twists around, your back meeting the plush mattress as he looms over you, one elbow digging in beside your head to prop him up. His luscious hair hangs around his face like a dark halo as he stares down with a teasing smirk, and anticipation washes over you as you bite your lip. Once again, his lips are finding your throat, following the neckline of your blouse with greedy kisses as one hand mimics the actions with the waistband of your skirt.

Your legs wind around his waist, drawing him closer, and a needy sigh escapes your parted mouth at the sensation of his hard length pressing against you through layers of clothing, the separation somehow making the act more intimate. His hand skims over the bunched material of your skirt to graze at your bare thigh, taunting you as he trailed halfway up before backtracking to trace the back of your thigh, fingertips pressing into soft flesh as he squeezes your ass.

"Sirius, please." You whisper, one hand softly tugging at the back of his head whilst the other clutches his shoulder. His hair tickles at your throat as he nods in acknowledgement, and he tugs aside the damp material of your panties to run a deft finger through your wet folds before sinking a finger deep into you. His thumb seeks out your clit, drawing steady circles despite the tremors you feel in the taut shoulders you clutch.

Head tossed back against the mattress, a yearning moan cuts through the heavy air as Sirius adds a second finger, the brush of his rough fingertips against your sensitive inner walls overwhelming after so many years of loneliness with no one but yourself to bring pleasure.

"Please," You cry again, the heels of your feet digging in to his back as you writhe in tandem with the slow thrusts of his fingers. Sirius delivers a final brush to your throbbing clit before slowly pulling away, fumbling with the fastenings of his slacks before freeing his cock. The heat of his aching length as the tip brushes against your folds sends another wave of white-hot desire coursing through you, and Sirius' fingers once again run through your soaked folds before pulling away to coat his cock in your liquid arousal.

It's agonizingly slow as he pushes into you, savouring each inch with bated breath until finally, his full length is sheathed within your pussy, both of you trembling as you fight against the overwhelming pleasure coiling tight within. Sirius is slow to pull out, the delicious drag of his cock against your inner walls sending a jolt up your spine, and a moan, low and needy, slips past your parted lips as he groans.

Nails bite into silk-clad shoulder blades as he thrusts back in, and you glance up at Sirius through bleary eyes to find his face clenched in ecstasy, brows furrowed and jaw slack as crimson stains his cheeks with arousal. He sets a languid pace, withdrawing to the tip before delivering firm thrusts that have you seeing stars. With every roll of his hips, keening whines escape you, and you can only try your best to meet his thrusts by digging your heels into his back and drawing him in deeper.

Sirius' hand, which had been paying special attention to your clit, drifts away as his thrusts begin to fall out of sync; instead, he slips his arm between your back and the mattress, curling around your waist to pull you closer. His face is buried in your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the oversensitive skin in between moans, and when your fingers leave their perch on his shoulders to entwine with his hair, Sirius once again finds your lips.

Longing, so aching and desperate, punctuates the kiss, and you find that your eyes are once again filling with tears as Sirius comes undone on top of you. His thrusts grow erratic, and you're so overwhelmed - by pleasure, by fear, by relief, and by sheer love - that when you climax, your tears spill over. Sirius' hips stutter to a halt a few moments later as he chases his orgasm, a guttural moan escaping him as he goes slack above you.

Your arms wrap tight around his prone form, save for the great heaving as he fights to catch his breath, and you drop delicate kisses to the top of his head as you push away the urge to cry. He must know though, must feel it in the tremor of your heart and hear it in the rattling of your breath, because he lifts his head from your chest all too soon to study your tear-streaked face.

"Come on, now, was I really that bad, sweetheart?"

You manage a weak chuckle at his comment, fractured by the wobble of your vocal cords. Shaking your head, you can only swallow down your sobs before attempting to speak. "I just, I never thought I'd see you again, I was so scared-"

He hushes you softly, cutting you off with a deliberate kiss. "There's no need to be, I'm here now, aren't I? I won't leave you again - you're stuck with me."

"Promise?" You whisper, refusing to let go.

"I promise. Now, let's get some sleep, I think we've earned it."

Sirius rolls off of you, grabbing is wand from the bedside table and casting a simple clean up charm in your direction before making his way to the wardrobe in the corner. He fumbles around for a moment before tossing a button-up shirt in your direction, to which you hastily undress to put on your makeshift pyjamas. You reverently turn away, reaching up to cover your eyes with your hands when Sirius casts a hesitant glance over his shoulder, only dropping your hands when you feel the bed dip with his weight. Hands grab you by the waist, pulling you to his side beneath the plush duvet, and you curl up in his arms as he silently turns out the lights with a flick of his wand.

You fall asleep to the thrum of his heart, and he to your breathing, still shaky from crying, both of you simply happy to fall asleep in the arms of the love you'd thought you'd never see again. 


	7. My Dear - Tom Riddle/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh oh call the horny police  
> written for Hellosunshine - sorry it took me so long to complete!! I hope you like <3

You were no fool.

You knew that beneath the layers of cool charisma and calculated charm, Tom Riddle was incapable of true emotions. And yet, despite all of his psychopathic tendencies - his incredible ability to manipulate his devoted schoolmates; the surface acts he dropped as soon as he thought no one was looking; the way he managed to slither out of any form of punishment and be rewarded for wrongs that, more often than not, he had been the direct cause of - there was something about him that simply drew you in.

Perhaps it was the fact that apparently, you were the only one so painfully aware of such behaviours that made him all the more tempting to you. It seemed that to everyone else at Hogwarts, Tom could do no wrong, but you saw through the lies, gifted with an incredible ability to see just beyond what people presented themselves as.

You often wondered if that made what you were doing with him all the more terrible; going against your parent's wrought-iron life-plan they'd set out for you to marry an affluent pureblood wizard and carry on the family name, in favour of pursuing a forbidden relationship with the golden boy of the school. Maybe it wouldn't seem so terrible if it was not one-sided, or if he was capable of displaying true emotion beside the satisfaction of bestowing cruelty and callous power. It would seem even less terrible if you didn't enjoy what he did.

But how could you not when those nimble fingers would dance across your skin, igniting icy flame in their wake? Or when that cool smirk would rest perfectly on that handsome face as he watched you writhe beneath him? To love Tom Riddle was a conscious sin, and most definitely a sure-fire way to break your own heart, but when he would give just enough to whisper sweet nothings in your ears, you found that you didn't much care about the inevitable fallout.

Especially now, stood before his towering frame. Tom leans against the post of his bed, as proud and casually in command as ever, casting a neutral eye over your naked form in the center of the empty dormitory. His uniform is still as pristine as ever, grey wool suit pressed and Slytherin tie perfectly straight, not a lock of luscious dark hair out of place, and his wand twirls languidly between his fingers as he simply takes in the situation, basking in the power he held over you.

A table is conjured between you with a swift flick of his wand, hip-high and dark mahogany, polished to a gleam until it reflected the dull lighting of the room. He nods towards it, eyes never leaving yours, and there is no need for you to voice your thoughts aloud as he answers your question.

"Yes, come around. Lay yourself face-down on the table, display yourself to me, my dear." He murmurs, voice like honey with all the calm assured power of royalty.

And of course, you obey, bare feet padding against the cool stone of the floor as you circle the table, daring to lift your hand and trace your fingertips along the smooth surface edge of the wood, your eyes dropping to follow. Stood in line with Tom, turned to the side, you cast a peek at him from the corner of your eye to see his face, passive as ever when he has no need to perform, before turning to face the table fully. Slowly, as if the silence in the room was seeping into your movements, you lean forwards, closing the distance between you and the lacquered tabletop until the soft flesh of your torso, your breasts, are pressed firmly against the cold wood.

Your cheek rests on the surface, head tilted the side as you gaze absently at one of the empty beds, your breathing remaining slow in spite of the thrumming of your heart and the mounting anticipation coiling within the pits of your stomach. Everything is cool - the slick table that supports your weight, the air that bites your exposed skin, the fingertips that are now ghosting your spine, leaving a torrent of shudders to rupture in their wake as he traces each vertebrae.

Tom starts low, at the dip in your back before gliding up the arch, sailing between your shoulder blades, before finding the delicate discs of your neck, brushing away the stray strands of hair that tickle your sensitive skin. His touch shifts, adjusting until he's gripping softly, palm pressed against the back of your neck whilst his fingertips rest on one side of your throat and his thumb on the other. He's still, as he usually is, and your breathing grows shallow despite the lack of pressure he applies.

You realise that he's feeling your pulse, the ebb and flow of your lifeblood coursing through your body as your heart crashes against your ribs, reveling in the power his position held, of your life being in his hand and at his mercy. Tom knew all too well that all he would need to do was squeeze just _here_ , and you would be at his mercy. His fingers flex, delicate fingertips digging deeper for a moment and drawing an uncontrollable gasp to slip past your parted lips before retracing their steps to retreat back down your spine.

Tom never kissed you. It was an unspeakable rule between you, that displays of affection were not to be confused with the pure physical desire he showed you, and yet, over the course of whatever it was between you, you had found him to betray his own rules. His touches lingered for longer, explored more of your body, and though he never left you unsatisfied, he seemed - in his own way - to be paying particular attention towards trying to ensure your pleasure.

His touch continues it's descent, tracing the curve of your ass before pausing. Your breath stutters to a halt as anticipation swells, and you steel yourself with a hard bite to your lower lip. Suddenly, fingers delve between your legs, fingertips seeking out your thrumming clit as the heel of his hand grinds against your entrance. Little more than a breathless whimper escapes you as his nimble fingers brush and circle your clit, dragging through your wet folds to tease at your entrance for only a second before his middle finger sinks deep into you, his index finger returning to your clit to draw forth more liquid arousal.

Tom's ring finger joins the other within your pussy after a few thrusts, and when obscene squelches fill the air with each thrust of his fingers, he pulls away. Tongue bitten hard to hold back your protests, your eyes clench tight as you envision the sights that are paired with the sounds emitting from behind you.

The click of a metal belt buckle unfastening, the swift drag of metal teeth as a zipper was undone, the rustle of material as slacks are adjusted, the tap of wood on wood as he places his wand on the table, parallel to your head and in your direct line of sight. One hand rests at your hip, the cold bite of metal from his ring seeping into your hot skin, before the tip of his cock is suddenly brushing up against your slick folds before finding your entrance. You muse that it is perhaps the warmest part of Tom that you've ever felt, but with each velvet inch of his length that slowly fills you, you find it harder and harder to focus on anything else except for the deliciously intense pressure.

Rough wool scratches at the backs of your trembling thighs as Tom buries the rest of his cock deep inside of your pussy, walls clenching and throbbing in earnest as he stretches you until your panting breath fogs the surface of the table. "Very good," He comments, as if he were conversing with a classmate over the weather, and that false smile, the pleasant one he so often wears, flashes through your mind.

There's something about that expression that you hate - maybe because it simply reminded you of the fact that this love was unrequited due to his sheer inability to do the same - and for a moment, you don't care about the perverse control and power he gains from his relationship with you. Instead, you dare to thrust backwards, grinding hard against his hips, and gain the satisfaction, however temporary, of hearing his grunt of pleasured surprise. Both hands now grip at your hips, a warning, holding you still against the edge of the table, and you fight a losing battle against the smirk painting itself across your flushed face.

"Careful now, my dear, you know not to get too ahead of yourself," He grits, before leaning in close, his clothed torso a mere fraction of an inch from brushing your naked back as he breathes in your ear. "Especially when you're like this beneath me, at my mercy."

Tom delivers the first thrust whilst still draped over your frame, reveling in the close-up view of your jaw slackening at the sensation of his cock filling you. He's quick to straighten back up, favouring to tower over you as he begins to settle into his preferred pace; an achingly slow withdrawal of his length to savour the drag of your tight walls, followed by a sharp thrust to the hilt, filling you so entirely and deeply that you could do little more than gasp and moan wantonly.

With each roll of his hips, you found your own twitching to reciprocate, but his grip kept you pinned firmly to the table. Bruises would most certainly form, but you didn't care, the bite of the wood was a tempting contrast of pain to the waves of pleasure he filled you with. Your toes, numb against the cool stone, curl tight, your legs giving out as they spasm uncontrollably, and you're immensely grateful for the table he had procured.

"Tom . . ." You whisper, yelping when he delivers a particularly harsh thrust in response. "Please . . ."

Whether or not he does so in response to your plea, or simply because his pleasure dictated him to, Tom's pace increases, settling on speed over fully withdrawing. He remains buried deep within your throbbing pussy, his pounding becoming borderline-desperate as his length twitches, once, twice, before suddenly his hips stutter to a halt, his entire cock sheathed by your clenching walls as he swells and releases, white-hot fluids filling you.

"Come now, my dear, it's time for you to let go." He coaxes, voice barely controlled as his cock continues to twitch. His grip dares to slacken, and he reaches between your trembling body and the hard mahogany to find your desperate clit, throbbing for his touch that you so eagerly accept.

His touch draws forth needy mewls and whines, fingertips toying with the swollen bud of nerves, and it only takes a few expert flicks and touches before you're clenching tight around him, pussy spasming as your climax crashes over you like a bolt of lightening. You are only distantly aware of your own moan, high in pitch and awash in euphoria as it echoes through the empty room, but when you finally come to your senses, it's to Tom's gentle voice and the light caress of the backs of his fingers against your crimson cheek, the heavy stone of his ring like a bite of ice to your heated flesh.

"You did very well, my dear, you always do so well."

And, it was in this act, the soft praise and the angelic touches, that you _knew_ the reason why you kept coming back to Tom Riddle. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and requests are most welcome :)


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